


Morph

by Arsoemon



Series: ShuKita 100 [14]
Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, One-Shot, Platonic Relationships, Shukita - Freeform, mentions of purging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21864727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsoemon/pseuds/Arsoemon
Summary: A character study of the starving artist
Relationships: Kitagawa Yusuke & Kurusu Akira, Kitagawa Yusuke & Madarame Ichiryusai, Kitagawa Yusuke & Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: ShuKita 100 [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1485896
Comments: 4
Kudos: 70





	Morph

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t expect this to be too heavy, but just in case, I’ll draw your attention to the tags. Again, nothing terribly descriptive, but I know eating disorders are sensitive topics and don’t want anyone to be blindsided by this one.

Yusuke's eating habits have become something of a tragic joke amongst the group. Any time the others make plans with him, food is the objective or a quick addendum. Even Boss will make sure to give him a bit extra any time he eats at Leblanc. Yusuke is aware of all of this and knows that they all mean well. He's even grateful for their insistence, though it doesn't take much convincing when he's with them, the people he trusts.

The problem is when he's alone. It's easy enough to place the full blame on his art consuming all of his funds. It's believable and mostly true. What the others don't know is that he's actually great with money. What's not spent on his art supplies, laundry, and occasional restocking of necessities is put away, and he has a decently sized stash of savings. The money is a convenient truth but not the whole one. The whole truth is complicated.

For as long as he could remember, the only family he had was Madarame. The man was never affectionate per se, but he did a convincing job of appearing to care for Yusuke. He met his basic needs—clothes, food, shelter—and did offer praise and constructive criticism to guide him along what he thought was the right path in the beginning. Of course, all of that was called into question within weeks of first laying eyes on Ann.

But long before that, it was clear to Yusuke that he had very little choice in any matter, especially those pertaining to his own life. Once or twice every year until he was twelve, he'd ask about his birth parents only to be rebuked with increasing levels of irritation. He wasn't allowed to pick his own friends, and his request to go to the one birthday party he was invited to in middle school was denied because Madarame thought the other kids were unnecessary distractions. Those other kids took this to mean Yusuke thought he was too good for them, an undeserved reputation that followed him to high school. And forget about the picky eater phase. He ate what was presented or was sent to bed.

Even without any frame of reference for anything else, Yusuke realized something was odd about his upbringing. Even before he could put words to it, he felt stifled, suffocated, a single telling-off away from imploding at all times. And then he got sick. Nothing major or serious, though Madarame was surprised that the boy had made it through 9 whole years with him before something disagreed with his stomach.

One of Madarame's American friends was in Tokyo for business and had stopped by for dinner. Madarame made—had his mistress make—spaghetti. They had eaten it a few times before, and Yusuke liked it well enough. But something was different this time. Maybe it was the extra spices in the sauce. Maybe the noodles were just the slightest bit cooler than they should've been. Maybe it was Madarame's friend's strange cologne or the latest deadline Madarame had set for a commission or some awful combination of the four. Whatever it was turned Yusuke's stomach. He assumed vomiting there at the table would be more impolite than silently excusing himself, so he ran as fast as he could; but the motion only worsened it. Steps away from the bathroom, he could hold it no longer and lost it in the hallway. He could just barely hear clanging silverware and shuffling feet through his pitiful apologies and miserable gagging and gasping.

When his stomach had finally ceased its spasms, Yusuke could only slump against the nearest wall, still shaking and apologizing as one of the older students helped clean up. He almost fell asleep there in the hall, but he heard a familiar voice call his name. Madarame grabbed him under the arms and pulled him to his feet. He supported him with one hand on his back and the other on his arm as he walked him to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face and did the same to get him to his room. Yusuke could only stare in surprise as Madarame—for the first time in years—tucked him in, pushing his hair away from his eyes as he rose to leave. Yusuke grabbed the man's sleeve, purely on impulse. When he had his attention, he apologized profusely for ruining his visit. Madarame's eyes softened, maybe from his ward's feeble, raspy voice, maybe from a fleeting memory of the boy's mother. He left the room but returned a few minutes later with a large glass of water that he told Yusuke to drink as much of as he could. Yusuke finished the glass after a few minutes, and Madarame returned with a pitcher to leave by his bedside. He rested a hand on Yusuke's forehead once more as he said goodnight before leaving him to sleep.

Yusuke can't recall when the realization hit him, but it was after this incident that he had discovered something he could control, though the discovery was only subconscious. Whenever there was a major disagreement between him and his classmates or Madarame's other pupils—or any particularly stressful event really—Yusuke would feel sick. Eventually, it got to the point where Madarame was concerned enough to take him to the doctor to figure out what the issue was. One suggested eating disorder, and Madarame was indignant. He sought a second opinion and got the more acceptable answer of "stress." He then regarded Yusuke as fragile and monitored him as if the slightest bit of excitement could send him to an early grave. Madarame's overprotective measures appeared to be justified when the nausea slowed to a stop, merely a coincidence.

Yusuke hated the vomiting, and though it truly was beyond his control, he seemed to have found a solution. Chances are it was yet another coincidence, but the mint candies and gum felt like they stopped the sick feeling. But this still left the issue of him feeling stifled, even more so now that he was older yet had less freedom than before. He found his control in one of the very things that seemed to be a lack of choice before. Madarame made the mistake of demanding the boy do something or other or not eat that evening. Yusuke opted for the latter, and Madarame never offered it as an option again. But the damage had been done.

From then on, whenever things weren't going well, his appetite would leave him. While some around him would stress eat, he fasted instead. At first, he wasn't actively choosing to ignore his growling stomach; his stomach just wouldn't growl. He would realize that he should be hungry by a certain time, but he wouldn't be and wouldn't force himself to eat. He lost what the doctor called an unhealthy amount of weight and had been sent to the nurse from class four times before it truly occurred to him that there was a larger problem. The revelation led to even less freedom, and he felt the threat of imploding return.

In order to appease his caregiver without giving up his control again, he would eat only when he actively wanted to but made sure to include healthy things and do a few extra strength exercises in addition to those at PE. A little while of this and he had gained enough muscle to calm the doctor's concerns, though Madarame would still occasionally comment on how thin he was. It was a fine line to walk, but he had found just the right stride. And then Akira and Ryuji followed Ann to his doorstep.

From that moment on, everything was destroyed. He knew his life wasn't a normal one. He knew that Madarame was rarely as kind as he appeared to be in front of others. But this was still the only life he had ever known, the only father he had ever had. Normal, good, or not, it was his; and losing it all at once sometimes felt like more than he could bear. To make matters worse, he began to question his motives for painting, the one thing he had been so sure of his entire life.

One particularly rough evening in the dorms, the purging returned, and he immediately hated himself for it. As he lay on his bathroom floor, a trembling mess in a pool of tears, he began to feel angry at himself. He was a Phantom Thief now. Other people were counting on him. How reliable could he be when he was too sick to stand? What good could he do the team when he was too weak to face himself? He silently vowed to Joker and the others that this would not continue, that he would improve. With that new determination in mind, Yusuke pushed himself up off the floor and immediately started painting.

All of these memories come flooding back. He made that vow months ago. He had been doing so well, even surpassed his previous weight by a few pounds. But none of that seems to matter now as he kneels on his bathroom floor, trying to process how politely declining a girl's romantic advances automatically leads to the assumption that he's into men and why that's a bad thing or even any of their business in the first place. His whole body shakes as he kneels there crying, knuckles bone white from being so tightly clenched into fists as he fights the urge to retch. He can already feel that too wet and yet somehow still dry sensation in his mouth and scrambles away from the toilet before the gagging can start. He picks up his phone, his hands moving entirely on their own.

The dial tone stops, and he fails to stifle a sob as he hears "Hey, Yusuke." He tries to steady his breathing enough to answer, but it only makes the sobbing worse. "Yusuke, what's wrong?" He sounds concerned, almost alarmed.

"Akira," he manages to choke out. "I am s-sorry to trouble you, b-but I... would you mind...?" he covers his mouth, hating how pitiful he sounds.

"Are you in your room?"

He nods as a hiccup steals his breath. "Yes."

"I'll be there soon." Yusuke wants to say thank you but can't steady himself enough to form the words in time. "I saw a flyer for a new exhibition," Akira continues to Yusuke's surprise. He thought he'd hung up already. "It said something about the artist's style marrying east to west or something, and I kinda wanna see what that's about. What do you think, sound interesting?"

"I am always o-open to new ideas," he answers around a hiccup.

"It opens next month, so we still have a wait, but I just walked past another flyer and remembered it. Do you have a favorite painter?"

Yusuke is caught off guard by the question. "Not in particular, no. I'm told my work seems to draw upon impressionist elements from time to time, but it is not a conscious choice. Do you?"

"Oh you mean besides you?" Yusuke smirks a little. "I don't know. I think I like too many styles and media to pick a favorite. Have you eaten yet?" The question is innocuous enough, but it reminds Yusuke of how and why this conversation started in the first place. He manages a pathetic "no" between sobs, and he can tell it worries Akira. "Are you hungry?"

"N- I...yes," he sniffles.

"There's always curry at my place, and believe it or not, there's actually other stuff on the menu, too. Or if you don't feel like leaving, we can order something? I'm almost there, but take your time deciding." Akira does a good job at keeping calm, but another sob escapes as Yusuke feels the urge creeping in again. Akira breaks into song, not caring who on the mostly empty train can hear him. Yusuke can't help but laugh uncontrollably, caught off guard by Akira's melodramatic rendition of "Bohemian Rhapsody," a song they'd found via meme compilation and liked unironically. About seven minutes later, Yusuke is jokingly requesting an encore. "Hang on this officer thinks I'm on drugs."

Yusuke breathes out a laugh. "I have questions myself."

"I'm five minutes away," Akira laughs, too. "You still gonna let me in after this, right?"

"Only if I get that encore." Yusuke can hear a rush of wind as Akira starts singing again, while running, apparently. The laughs start anew, and it's almost enough to completely take his mind off earlier today. Soon enough, he can hear the winded, off-keybridge through the phone and the door, so he rises to let him in. Before either even says anything, Akira wraps him in a big hug, letting the door swing shut behind them. Yusuke hugs him back as tears start to fall again but for a different reason now. Standing here in his dearest friend's arms somehow replaced the pain and fear from moments ago with overwhelming relief, even if only for the moment. He's not looking forward to talking about it, but the pride he feels from successfully resisting this time makes it feel a little easier to do.

"It's going to be alright, Yusuke." Akira's voice is gentle, slightly muffled in the ear pressed against his neck. Yusuke pulls away and invites Akira to sit with him on the futon before starting at the beginning. By the end of it, he's just waiting for Akira to call him weird or gross and leave without another glance. But of course he doesn't. From the day they'd met, Akira seemed to be dependable and far beyond his years in many ways. Yusuke had bared his soul to him before and felt nothing if not supported. Still, this was a lot to learn on a Thursday evening, and Yusuke hesitates to look at him.

"I'm no expert; certainly not qualified to try to tell you how to handle it, but I'm sure Dr. Takemi knows a few people, if counseling's something you wanna do. That said," he takes Yusuke by the hand, "I'm glad you know you can call me. I'm not good for much, but I'm here for you whenever you need me and as long as my singing is still tolerable." Yusuke laughs, knowing well that Akira's actual singing is quite good.

"And of my classmates?"

"Ignore them as much as you can. They don't know anything about you and are too afraid to fix that. I know the words hurt," he looks down, "I really do, but you have to block it out. I wish I had better advice, but they won't matter for much longer."

"But... if they are not wholly wrong?" Yusuke does look at him then, his voice reduced to a whisper as if it could shatter at any moment.

"What do you mean?"

"What if... it had nothing to do with her being a girl? What if it was simply because there is someone else? Someone I know fairly well, whom I trust with my life...."

"Then maybe tell them as much." Akira looks him in the eye. "You may be surprised at their reaction. But that's completely your call to make." He squeezes the reassurance into his hand. "It will be alright."

And Yusuke believes him wholeheartedly. With a small laugh, he wipes his face. "I suppose ramen would be nice. There is a special promotion on now. The prices are phenomenal."

Akira smirks. "Don't worry. I'll pay."

"I couldn't possibly-"

"Yusuke." His voice is soft and yet loaded with the weight of the previous confession.

"Then perhaps that new sushi restaurant? I have heard good things.”

Akira runs his thumb over Yusuke's knuckles. "Ready when you are."

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again. So I don’t have a diagnosed eating disorder, but most of this is my experience set within the context of this AU. This, like all of my works, is purely for entertainment, but I do want to note that there is help if you are struggling with anything. While I’m in no way trained to handle these things, my Twitter is @Arsoemon, and I am always willing to listen. Thank you for reading, and be kind to yourself❤️💙


End file.
